


Through the Looking-Glaz

by Ki_ru



Series: The Ruined T-Shirts Trilogy [1]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Romance, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, no missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: Blitz approaches Glaz with a problem that he feels the Russian can sort out, though Glaz remains unconvinced - until he realises there are details that even he has missed.He manages to work out a satisfying solution.Part of a series but functions as a standalone.





	Through the Looking-Glaz

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is curious, [I made a list](https://i.gyazo.com/f8fdfb713669109e3e925528eb38cbe8.png) of all the basic operators' age (assuming it's 2015, when R6 came out, and disregarding their exact birth dates), height and weight. I hope it helps anyone. (If not, that's fine, I just like making lists.)  
> Also, I tried to stay close to the official descriptions, but obviously put my own spin on it since there's not much to go by. Enjoy!❤

Glaz loves to observe.

It’s a passion that has accompanied him his entire life, that aids him in his artistry, makes his job easier and never fails to entertain him. Never mind whether it was the ant-like silhouettes of his enemies, backlit in a distant window and yet only visible through his scope, random pedestrians on the street who were absorbed in their seemingly profound conversations that were really about mundane happenings, or his skilful colleagues from all over the world, chatting away casually, for a few moments forgetting about their monumental task of saving the world one bit at a time – Glaz loves watching it all.

His attention to detail coupled with his patience allow for a more accurate evaluation of the people around him, an impression and interpretation that’s more precise than that of his fellow countrymen. He often keeps his findings to himself, does not rat out Smoke when he catches him making rude gestures at Pulse’s back, keeps silent about Thatcher’s hip flask that’s quite cleverly disguised as binoculars, leaves it to Jäger himself to come out to his team.

However, Glaz still finds it hard to assess which snippets of information to keep to himself. Smoke and Pulse end up in an actual fist fight in which luckily none of them are seriously injured, but guilt burns a hole through Glaz’ stomach until he notices that the two of them somehow managed to become friends in the process. Tachanka overhears Blitz and Jäger joking about the latter’s sexuality and, never having had to deal with something called ‘guess this is none of my business’, blurts it out to Kapkan and Fuze on the same day, thus denying Jäger any form of agency.

Sometimes though, Glaz’ reticence works out. Thatcher’s whisky is delicious and wholly acceptable as a bribe for staying quiet.

 

Rainbow turns out to be better and more vivid than anything Glaz dreamed of. The international nature of the organisation allows him close contact to all sorts of different cultures, languages and, most of all, people – which means that his subconscious curiosity, the desire to learn as much as possible about the world he was born into, finally feels sated. It takes a while, but soon a few of his fellow operators recognise his reservation as mindfulness and approach him in more private surroundings to chat. Some are satisfied with their superficial grasp of who Glaz is, others continue to seek him out and make him feel welcome in the base.

His fellow Spetsnaz operators settle in more quickly: Tachanka’s big mouth immediately earns him not only friends but also verbal rivalries with other witty operators, especially the British hooligans (as he likes to call them). Kapkan is naturally easy-going and therefore readily accepted, while Fuze bonds with other tinkerers who spend as much time in the provided workshop as he does (though admittedly the slender and otherwise amicable Twitch has to exasperatedly dismantle his Matryoshka grenade _and_ assimilate it again for him to start treating her with the respect she undoubtedly deserves).

Even so, the four Russians (technically, Fuze was born in Uzbekistan, but he never bothers to correct anyone who gets it wrong) find themselves spending most of their time with each other. As four men, just like the Brits, they share one room with two bunk beds, whereas the other teams share rooms with a operators from other special forces. Still, fellow countrymen tend to flock together regardless – Glaz often sees the GIGN operators sticking their heads together and chatting away in their precise, quick-fire mother tongue, just as the German GSG9 officers joke around in their hard sounding language. Yet it seems to Glaz that the four of them are lost in their own world more often, their bubble of familiarity, their trusted language effortlessly rolling over their tongues and the knowledge that none of their culturally specific remarks are wasted.

He idly wonders why, but doesn’t preoccupy himself with the question.

~*~

“I swear, your kasha makes me feel like I’m six years old again”, Fuze mumbled around a mouth full of porridge.

“And I bet his kasha would make _me_ feel like I’m fifteen and sick drunk”, Tachanka interjected drily. “Revolting. Can’t you eat that anywhere else?”

Kapkan gave him a pointed look. “Just because you hate our country doesn’t mean everybody has to.”

“I don’t hate our country, I just hate Glaz’ kasha.”

“Not true”, Kapkan said with a smirk, “I saw you in the kitchen before, trying to make your own. You ended up throwing half of it away and looking like you’re gonna throw the other half up into the sink.”

“No one’s kasha can live up to the one my babushka used to make.” Tachanka looked slightly offended now.

“Just accept it, things change. You lost your taste for it.” Kapkan shrugged and then added more quietly: “Traitor.”

Before Tachanka could start their day by strangling on of their own, Fuze said: “Fucking hell, this is good. No one needs a babushka when we’ve got Glaz. Look at him, preparing breakfast and smiling to himself like we’re his rowdy grandchildren.” His words earned him a snort from Kapkan and a proper laugh from Tachanka.

Glaz, who definitely _had_ smiled to himself while the others mock argued in their usual hunger-induced irritation, turned away from the sizzling pan in which he was preparing a whole heap of scrambled eggs and asked innocently: “Did you say ‘throw away those eggs, we’re not hungry anymore’? Because that’s what it sounded like to me.”

The three started to protest immediately and Fuze even got slapped on the back of his head. Grumbling, he picked up his already half-eaten plate of kasha and made his way from the cooking area to the rows of tables that occupied the majority of the canteen. On the way, he passed Jäger, as usual the first of the GSG9 to get up in the morning, and greeted him with a Russian word which Glaz was only too familiar with. It never failed to make him flinch. With a sober expression, he locked eyes with Tachanka, who had, like Kapkan, fallen silent at the insult.

“I _did_ talk to him”, Tachanka quietly replied to Glaz’ serious gaze, just before the German joined them with an unamused expression.

“What did he say?”

“ ‘Good morning, how are you, I have the utmost respect for you since you risk your life on our missions just as much as I do’ “, Kapkan said in English with a sarcastic look towards Fuze, gathered up his breakfast and left as well.

“Do I even need to ask?” Jäger sighed in irritation and eyed the scrambled eggs so longingly that Glaz wordlessly shovelled a huge portion onto an empty plate and handed it to him.

Tachanka shook his head. “Fuze is an idiot. Just ignore him.” He then grimaced as Jäger happily accepted a bowl of porridge as well and added loudly: “If you keep feeding this muck to everyone in the base, they’ll end up getting as fat as all of your mother’s pets. Just look at Kapkan.”

From across the room, Kapkan gave him the finger without even interrupting his and Fuze’s conversation.

When it was just Glaz and Jäger by the stove, the slim German made sure to thank him for the food and ended with an appreciative: “You’re a good cook.”

Glaz nodded simply. “And you’re a good man.”

He would like to believe that the small smile he earned in return was one of the reasons why Jäger joined their table instead of sitting alone, waiting for his teammates to roll out of bed.

 

Rainbow’s base was unusually quiet at the moment, with most of the teams being deployed across the world. Spetsnaz and GSG9 were left on standby, ready if an emergency should arise – though actually they were bored out of their minds most of the time, which had resulted in various shenanigans. They almost went too far when the two teams nearly forgot about a silently fuming Kapkan who had been left outside, duct taped to a tree. They vowed never to tell anyone, which included their superiors, and dialled down the pranks which unfortunately meant that the past few days had been mind-numbingly empty.

The Germans made use of their time by sleeping in, trying to give either the Russians or each other concussions in hand-to-hand combat and yelling at Bandit about toothpaste-filled shoes, salt in their coffees and, once, thumb tacks in Blitz’ bed. Glaz feared that one day, their cabin fever might get out of hand and they’d end up seriously damaging either parts of the base or parts of each other.

Admittedly, Spetsnaz wasn’t _much_ better. Fuze had never slept this badly and either kept a disgruntled Kapkan awake by reading late into the night or took long midnight walks that at least tired him out but didn’t leave him much time to actually sleep. It had become a sport for Glaz to catch the things others were trying to throw into Fuze’s half-open mouth whenever he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

Kapkan thrived in groups and even though he seemed to genuinely enjoy his fellow countrymen’s company, he usually roped others into their conversations, half-heartedly translating the current topic and more often than not starting a fierce discussion amongst whoever had been unlucky enough to listen to him. He was still the one who talked to the GSG9 operators the most, but it was obvious the emptiness of the long corridors, the unoccupied tables in the canteen and the sheer lack of knowledge about their fellow operators’ fates affected him.

Contrary to the rest of them, Tachanka seemed to enjoy the relative peace and quiet. He cheerily offered Fuze terrible advice on his insomnia, tried to keep Kapkan preoccupied and held a few verbal sparring matches with Blitz that entertained the other operators so much that Fuze for once forgot about his midday nap and IQ nearly stabbed Jäger with a fork while emphatically rooting for her favourite of the fight (Blitz, of course). When Glaz expressed his admiration about Tachanka’s peace of mind, however, he replied grimly: “Don’t underestimate boredom. If I didn’t have you numbskulls to look after, I’d probably be eating wild mushrooms in the hopes of _something_ happening.”

Glaz himself didn’t mind the emptiness of their base too much. He worried about the others and had fewer distractions, that much was true, but he finally finished some of the books he’d been meaning to read – though one of them belonged to Castle and he would’ve loved to discuss it with him. He spent some time training in the gym, often went for a run in the morning and hung around in the workshop to watch IQ, Fuze, Jäger and sometimes even Kapkan and Bandit work their magic with tools that felt foreign in his hands but were weirdly soothing to look at.

Besides, there was another matter that Blitz had brought before him only yesterday.

 

Sometimes, people approached Glaz with personal problems. If he felt out of his depth or as if he was the wrong person to talk to, he didn’t hesitate to be honest about it, yet he never turned anyone away before listening to their troubles. He also tried to give advice to the best of his knowledge and as objectively as possible – there were cases where he’d upset others, even to the point of them refusing to speak to him for a while, because he hadn’t said what they’d wanted to hear. Others appreciated his sincerity and strived towards a mutual understanding between themselves and the other party involved.

Then, rarely, Glaz ended up completely and utterly stumped.

He was used to others asking for help in matters that didn’t involve him (“the toilet is clogged and no team wants to own up, Tachanka is convinced it was me but we both know I wouldn’t do something like that, right? So I’m off for a walk, can you go and unclog it?” – Kapkan) as well as matters that _did_ involve him to an extent (“can I borrow your sniper rifle for a moment? And how do I best kill someone with it and make it look like an accident?” – Tachanka), but usually not something he felt personally responsible for.

However, when Blitz asked him for a conversation alone, face serious, fists clenched and every trace of his normal good-naturedness gone, Glaz knew it meant trouble.

Their talk had ended with the promise that Glaz would try to help, but the questions as to _why him_ and _how_ hadn’t left him since.

 

The remaining time the four Russians spent in the canteen passed by without any notable events: Fuze almost smashed his head on the table during a lull in conversation and had to be shaken awake by a gleefully grinning Kapkan, Bandit fell into his own trap and put sugar instead of salt on his eggs and IQ tried to explain her current project to Jäger until his eyes glazed over and he stopped responding.

Glaz separated from the other three after they’d gone back to their room, collected his trusty rifle and headed outside. Sniping was one of his favourite activities during which he had time to reflect; the others being painting and showering. Painting, however, was out of the question – not only was he missing most of the necessary supplies, he also didn’t want to risk pouring his emotions, experiences and impressions onto a canvas that would end up damaged or even destroyed. He had witnessed jokes that had started as harmless fun turn into something cruel several times before and preferred not to make himself a target.

And showering? With the other teams gone, there was enough hot water available for a lavish session that would leave his skin soft and his muscles relaxed, but since they were communal, he couldn’t count on much privacy. Not that he needed it per se, he would just have to carefully keep his gaze unfocused and his thoughts vague – depending on who had joined him. One specific person came to mind, unbidden.

And at that point, a shower would be anything but relaxing.

His cock gave an almost questioning, interested twitch in his trousers, but Glaz ignored it. He hadn’t headed out to have a wank in the woods, where everyone could literally stumble over him, he’d come for introspection.

Mechanically, he set up his tripod at the usual place, tested the wind, brushed the ground clean and laid down on the cool earth. It was late autumn, most of the leaves had already changed colour and fallen off the trees to turn into a decomposing bio-mass that produced uncomfortable squelchs when it rained (not his preferred conditions to practise in, though he's had worse). Fortunately, on this day it was dry and the air calm. Almost perfect.

The first shot pinged off the rim of the battered road sign that Glaz had put up in the distance. Since the indoor shooting range was largely useless to him, he had assembled a variety of shootable odds and ends for his own target practise – among them a speed limit sign that the French guys had stolen during a drunken escapade and, oddly, later given to Glaz out of guilt.

He calmed his breathing, focused and squeezed the trigger again. This time, he hit the tree trunk right above the sign.

Blitz’ words kept nagging at him, undoubtedly the reason for his lack of concentration. He shut them out and aimed at easier targets for a while, until he felt his thoughts wander by themselves, experienced a calm stream of consciousness not unlike the one right before he went to sleep.

Respecting someone was a positive thing, that much he knew, but what did it imply about the relationship between two people? It may make someone more likely to follow orders or advice if they respected you, but would they do it because of the position you represented to them... or because of genuine devotion? Was it possible to respect someone and still dislike them? In that case, would it be possible to know for sure if someone respected yet disliked you?

Glaz refrained from reigning in his mind, allowed it to twist and turn freely, change topics in the blink of an eye and return to the initial problem in a heartbeat. His shots almost made themselves, his body reacquainted with every tiny characteristic of his weapon and again able to aim and fire with incredible accuracy.

His thoughts were dwelling on the pure joy Fuze always displayed whenever Glaz made kasha in the morning (a rare emotion from the oftentimes ill-humoured Uzbek), when he heard footsteps approaching him. Since he was currently lining up another long shot, he didn’t look up, but his peaceful state of mind was interrupted regardless. A soft curse in his mother tongue escaped him when he missed his target by a large margin.

A female voice chuckled and his visitor, who could only be IQ, squatted down next to him. “Bad word”, she scolded him in thickly accented Russian.

Glaz looked up into a friendly smile and switched to English out of courtesy. “You speak my language?”

“Only a little bit. I’ve been to Moscow before, it’s a remarkably beautiful city.”

“That it is”, he agreed and started reloading his rifle. “Cabin fever get you too?”

“It was between getting some fresh air or resetting my work the only way I know how – and that probably would’ve damaged the table.”

“Better the table than Jäger’s pretty face. Or Fuze’s, for that matter.” Glaz looked through his scope again, but he knew it was futile. His concentration was lost. “I know it usually helps me to explain problems step by step to someone else. As long as something logical is concerned, that is.”

IQ made a face and sighed. “You have no idea how many times I’ve already done that or how complicated it is. Because then you wouldn’t be offering.”

“Oh, I heard a bit over breakfast. Believe me, I’m not offering.” Surprised, she barked out a laugh and quickly covered her mouth with her hand as if she somehow had disturbed the peace of the place. She reminded Glaz of a nervous cat, he would’ve bet that she’d be pacing if he wasn’t lying down. “In that case, it might be a good idea to take your mind off things. Would you like to try?”

The German seemed doubtful until Glaz got up, took off his jacket and laid it out so she wouldn’t get her clothes dirty. Just that gesture alone seemed to help with IQ’s restlessness, because when she started lining up shots, she wasn’t as far off as Glaz would’ve guessed. He offered advice and gently corrected her grip and for a while it looked like IQ might actually turn out to be a decent shot, but then he made the mistake of telling her about the origin of the road sign. The story made her giggle, which led to her next shot going so wide that Glaz might have to fear for his calves in the near future, which in turn made her laugh harder when he commented on this, which made _him_ grin.

In the end, IQ wasted a whole lot of bullets on a whole lot of nothing, but at least her mood had improved considerably and most of the tension had seeped out of her body.

She sat up and examined him curiously. “You’re nice”, she decided.

Feeling sheepish at the sudden compliment, Glaz averted his gaze and replied: “You seem surprised.”

“Well, you don’t talk much. It could go both ways, either you turn out to be incredibly creepy and bloodthirsty or just very pleasant. I’m glad it’s this. Besides, your team is a little…” She seemed to test the word out on her tongue before she let it out: “Intimidating.”

“That is probably because your scariest guy weighs at least 30 pounds less than I do sopping wet.”

IQ thought about his words for a moment but ended up nodding. One could easily forget that despite Bandit’s undeniably daunting presence, he weighed even less than the shorter Blitz. “I don’t understand why some of us have to be so competitive though. Bandit feels like he has to brag about everything that sets him apart from the other teams, he even takes credit for Blitz’ achievements.”

Glaz knew what she meant. Despite the fact that all operators were supposed to be responsible, reliable and focused on team work most of all, a surprising amount of childishness was present in their day to day dealings. He could think of one Spetsnaz operator who cultivated this sort of rivalry himself.

“I think I’m going to head back. This really helped, by the way – next time I’m stuck, I’ll just badly shoot at random things again.”

“Preferably not in the workroom though, think of all the pretty faces.” IQ just grinned in response. “I’ll join you. You wasted most of my ammunition anyway.”

“Hey, it was _your_ idea!”

They both got up and made their way back to the base while bantering back and forth. IQ was pleasant company when she wasn’t obsessing about something, and so the two entered the workshop at ease with each other and with smiles on their faces. However, IQ seemed to immediately forget about him as soon as she saw Jäger, sat down next to him and began pointing and talking excitedly about the various electronics piled up in front of the other German. She must’ve gotten an idea – she was completely lost in her own world.

Glaz didn’t mind and took a seat next to a relaxed-looking Kapkan in sweatpants and opposite of a tense Fuze. Both of them stared at him, Kapkan obviously amused, Fuze suspicious. “What?”, Glaz asked in Russian.

“You two were gone a long time”, Kapkan said at the same time as Fuze: “Your jacket’s dirty.”

He took the offending jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair, though this only seemed to prompt Fuze to inspect the rest of his torso with narrowed eyes. “I was practising my aim and she joined me. She could be a decent shot if she wanted.”

Kapkan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And then you rolled around in the dirt a little, hm?”

Before Glaz could protest, Fuze added insult to injury: “Leave it to the plainest guy to get some action with the only woman left in the base.”

Ouch. Glaz never would’ve admitted it, but the comment stung. He didn’t consider himself handsome, but he wouldn’t have guessed Fuze thought him ugly. Even Kapkan looked unimpressed with the remark.

Fuze must’ve realised he’d gone too far, but his pride stood in the way of an apology. “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t.” Kapkan leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands, scrunching up his face as if trying to recall something specific. “You know, a while ago – do you remember? – a while ago, didn’t you say Glaz was the best-looking one among us? I distinctly heard you say it, something about his eyes?”

“I, I didn’t –“ Fuze’s eyes widened in sudden panic and he shook his head emphatically. “I never – you’re lying, I said he’s not _painful_ to look at! Besides, he’s the youngest, so he’s untainted by age unlike Tachanka, that old man.”

“Are you so intent on insulting Glaz’ face _to his face_?” Kapkan’s lazy, amused voice and his smirk stood in stark contrast to Fuze’s urgent words and the blush that was steadily creeping its way up his neck to his cheeks.

Glaz himself was placated enough to come to Fuze’s rescue when his eyes desperately begged him for help and switched topics: “Tachanka would probably roll in his grave if he could hear you. What have you two been working on in the meantime?”

Fuze’s relief at the change in topic raised a few more questions though. Glaz believed he knew of the occasion Kapkan was referring to – only a short time after their recruitment by Rainbow, the other three had gone out drinking. Kapkan and Tachanka had brought back Fuze as a slurring and stumbling mess and for some reason had had to laugh every time they looked at Glaz. It was possible that Fuze, in his inebriation, had uttered some sentimental things not meant for anyone but himself, as drunks are wont to do. That might explain his embarrassment, though not Kapkan’s and Tachanka’s neverending roars of laughter.

Maybe it was best to ask Fuze about it in private, for Kapkan would surely prevent any adult conversation about it.

“We built a wave machine”, said Russian proudly proclaimed and held up a small device that was hooked up to a tiny motor. He switched it on and the arm-like structure sticking out into the air started moving back and forth – it actually did look like someone waving.

“We did _not_ build a wave machine”, Fuze contradicted him indignantly, cheeks still slightly red, “it’s a tooth brush replacer.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. If it replaced your tooth brush, you could put tooth paste on it and it’d brush your teeth, but that’s not what it does. It replaces your _arm_ , but only when you’re brushing your teeth. Genius!” Kapkan rolled his eyes and looked at Glaz for support, but Glaz was too busy trying not to laugh at the other two bickering like a married couple over one of the most inane things to come out of their high-tech workshop.

“And… what would the wave machine do?”, Glaz asked in a neutral voice that required a _lot_ of effort.

“It waves.” Fuze opened his mouth to clearly shed some doubt on Kapkan’s intellect, but he continued: “If you have to say goodbye to someone but your hand is getting tired, it waves for you. Put it in your buttonhole, add a white handkerchief and you’re set.”

“I find it hard to believe that you’ve ever worn a suit in your life”, Fuze grumbled and switched the device off again.

“In creativity, this thing at least beats you trying to put more grenades into your grenades.” Kapkan unfolded himself off his chair and patted Glaz’ shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, promised some of the guys I’d spar with them. See you later.”

As soon as he was gone, Fuze leaned forwards and hissed: “Did you really just shoot?”

Glaz’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, forget it. Didn’t you have an old radio that broke? If you go get it, I can try to patch it up so we can put it in the kitchen and listen to music while we make food.”

“While _I_ make food”, Glaz corrected absentmindedly. His thoughts dwelled on the weird question that Fuze had so quickly waved aside.

“While _you_ make food that would even make Tachanka’s babushka proud”, Fuze admitted with a slight smile.

 

“Did something happen?”

Blitz had seemed surprised at the bluntness of the question at first, until he realised how serious he must have sounded. “No, it’s fine, no need to worry”, he reassured Glaz quickly and shook his head at himself. “It’s just…”

Glaz had waited patiently. Silence often did a better job at making people talk than questions, he found. It seemed to have taken some resolve for Blitz to approach him and he didn’t want to drive him away.

“It’s about Jäger.”

He nodded encouragingly. He’d noticed that the German had been unusually quiet and at times even shunned the four Russians’ company after Tachanka had outed him to Kapkan and Fuze only two weeks prior.

“Well, no, actually, it’s about Fuze.”

Another nod. He knew where this was going. “You’re talking about his…” He searched for the right word and finished with “traditionalism” just as Blitz suggested: “Bigotry.” Despite the topic, Glaz’ lips twitched amusedly. The Germans’ leader really didn’t mince his words.

Slightly embarrassed, Blitz hastily continued: “So you’ve noticed. But I fear it goes deeper than that – I asked Jäger about some bruises and he evaded my questions. Even towards us, he’s become more secretive.”

“You suspect bullying?” If this was true, the matter was indeed more serious than Glaz had thought. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed, tried to think back to a time where Jäger and Fuze could’ve been by themselves. IQ and Jäger usually occupied the workroom together and apart from that, Fuze was almost always surrounded by other Spetsnaz.

“Yes. I _know_ something’s up with Jäger. And I’ve heard the stories from Russia.”

Who hadn’t? Torture videos, horror stories, organised bullying – the list was long. Glaz was familiar with it. “I hope you don’t think we are the same as those people. Besides, Fuze is Uzbek. It’s illegal in his home country, he’s likely never met anyone who was so open about it.”

“I didn’t mean to offend”, Blitz said apologetically. “I tried talking to him, but as soon as I said Jäger’s name, he brushed me off.”

“I will tell Tachanka. He can –“

“No”, the German interrupted him. “I talked to him as well, he talked to Fuze, nothing came out of it as far as I can tell. That’s why I came to you. I probably should’ve come earlier, to be honest, I don’t know why I didn’t.”

This remark Glaz didn’t understand. Had Blitz seen through him? Did he _know_? He stayed silent, but his confusion must’ve shown on his face.

“He respects you. Haven’t you noticed? Fuze respects you the most, more than Kapkan, more than even Tachanka. If he listens to anyone, it’s going to be you.”

 

Glaz replayed their conversation in his mind while watching Fuze take apart his old wireless. He had tried to find proof for Blitz’ words, something in Fuze’s demeanour that gave it away, his alleged respect for him, but all he had found was his normal behaviour.

Maybe Blitz was wrong. Maybe Glaz had accepted his assessment too eagerly, wishing for it to be true.

The rest of the day passed at a sluggish pace. The two of them joked around light-heartedly, but when Glaz asked him what he was doing exactly, Fuze did his best to explain. When he was done, the two joined the small group in the gym where thin mats had been spread out to create a more comfortable sparring area. Kapkan was currently fighting the slightly shorter and lighter Blitz who still seemed to have the advantage until Tachanka loudly proclaimed to have a direct view of Blitz’s balls every time the German tried a kick. In his distraction, Kapkan easily took him out.

Fuze challenged an almost vibrating Bandit, who was noticeably starved for a fight, and lost spectacularly after which he left to nurse his wounded pride, accompanied by Bandit’s gleeful cackling. Glaz let him go on his own. Jäger was in the workshop with IQ, after all.

He withdrew himself after a while and read until it was time for dinner, which he prepared together with Tachanka, the repaired radio softly playing old songs in the background. Blitz announced that there were news from the other teams: so far, there were no casualties on their side and only Ash had been injured by two bullets, though she recuperated well and would be back on her feet soon. The GIGN and SAS operators would be returning in one, maybe two days, closely followed by the FBI. It sounded like an overwhelming success.

The atmosphere at dinner was relaxed, even cheerful. IQ shared a beer with Glaz that she had smuggled into the base, Blitz provided more details about their colleagues’ missions and Kapkan half-heartedly made plans for a welcome back party. Even Bandit seemed content (though it turned out that he had smuggled something more potent in than just beer).

Glaz kept a close eye on Fuze, but failed to notice anything unusual about him. He was his usual, gruff self, often fell back to Russian to make some remarks to his three closest friends and maybe smiled a little more. He didn’t show it, but Glaz was sure he was glad to hear that almost all of their colleagues had managed to finish their jobs unharmed.

 

He woke up when the door to their room closed quietly.

It must have been the middle of the night – Fuze’s lamp was turned off, which meant it wasn’t early into the night, and Tachanka snored softly, which meant it wasn’t morning yet. Glaz sighed to himself and rolled to the side of his top bunk until he could peer over the edge first into the room and then into the lower bunk. The pale moonlight shining through the dirty glass pane told him that Fuze’s boots were gone, and so was Fuze himself. Seems like he was taking another midnight stroll.

On the other side of the room, Kapkan was as immovable as a rock (a sleeping habit that had caused Glaz concern in the early days of their friendship, but he had quickly discovered that Kapkan just slept like the dead) and Tachanka was unaffected by Fuze leaving, as always. In a way, Tachanka was the most annoying roommate they could’ve asked for – he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and woke up punctual, at the same time every morning, making so much noise that getting up was the only alternative for the others.

Glaz considered just staying under the warm covers, but he had given his word to Blitz. And what better time to talk to Fuze than now?

He took his time, stretched, slid out of bed onto the cold floor, pulled on the first pair of jeans he found as well as a sweatshirt and decided against putting on his boots for now. He picked them up instead and slipped out into the dark hallway.

After a brief period in which his eyes adjusted to the blackness, he carefully made his way down the corridor and was about to head into the workshop to see whether tinkering helped Fuze get tired, when he suddenly saw a thin strip of light in the distance.

His feet carried him towards it by themselves and his mental map told him that he was approaching the second men’s bathroom, on the other side of their living quarters. Since it was closer to the British, French and American rooms, it was only used as a substitute bathroom at the moment and should have been empty.

Glaz wondered why Fuze had come here, of all places.

After he had silently moved up to the door and pushed it open a little further, he stopped wondering.

The only light source was a dim bulb that apparently hadn’t been changed since the base’s construction, yet to Glaz’ eyes it was more than bright enough. The golden rays illuminated Fuze’s profile, the outline of a strong arm and his flat stomach, his Adam’s apple prominent along the curve of his throat. His eyes were shut and his head rested on the wall he was leaning against.

Jäger was kneeling in front of him.

Even though the situation was completely unambiguous, Glaz had to focus his gaze to make out details, to notice Fuze’s fingers in Jäger’s short hair, to really _see_ Fuze’s cock sliding in and out of the other man’s mouth. Jäger was unmistakably experienced and he was being thorough, hollowed his cheeks on each bob of his head, sucked Fuze down further and further and seemed to enjoy himself. Only after a few seconds did Glaz notice Jäger had pushed one of his hands down the front of his pants and was jerking off, so fixated was he on Fuze.

 

Soldiers masturbated. Some did it more openly than others, some showed a laughable amount of prudishness about it, but everyone did it. Smoke was teased mercilessly as he regularly got caught in the shower, Kapkan sometimes took suspiciously short ‘walks’ from which he returned calm and content, but a lot of them did it in the relative privacy of their beds, under the covers, in the dark.

It was one of the blessings of a focused mind that Glaz was able to block out any telling sounds, any change in breathing and instead guide his thoughts into safer territory, but for some reason, Fuze just did him in. Fuze he could never ignore.

He didn’t do it often, but when he did, Glaz knew immediately. It started with a few abrupt turns during which he seemed to gauge whether Glaz was asleep or not (he had to be very quiet and deepen his breathing), then came a bit of rustling and finally: a hitch in Fuze’s breath once he actually started stroking himself.

The absolute worst thing about it was that Fuze took his time. If he’d been done quickly, Glaz could’ve calmed down his own cock afterwards, but the sheer length of his sessions made it impossible for Glaz to disregard his own weeping erection for so long. He would press one hand to his mouth and massage himself to the quiet creaking of the bed below him and Fuze’s irregular breath on his pillow. It sounded like he was fucking his own fist.

He probably thought he was being stealthy.

The whole ordeal left Glaz drained and irritable, even more so when he woke up to a crusted mess on his stomach the next morning, and still he could almost never resist.

 

The sight of Fuze with his trousers down and Jäger on his knees blowing him with abandon got him so hard in seconds that Glaz feared he’d become light-headed. He had to actively fight the urge to barge in and join the two, push Jäger away and be the one to swallow down that glorious-looking piece of flesh. Never before had he been this turned on and incredulous at the same time.

Then Jäger looked at him.

He didn’t stop his ministrations, didn’t ask for help nor did he indicate any sort of distress. Instead, he deep throated Fuze without breaking eye contact with Glaz, showed him a bit of tongue and reached up with his free hand to cup one of Fuze’s ass cheeks in an almost possessive gesture.

Several pieces clicked into place.

Fuze slapped Jäger’s hand away and complained quietly, but dragged him back onto his cock when Jäger leaned back to say something.

Glaz used that moment to escape. As soon as he was out of hearing range, he dropped his trousers and gripped his pulsing erection like a drowning man a saving rope. In his mind, he saw Fuze’s blissful face again, heard his soft pants, and it took him a pitiful amount of time to lose it and come all over himself.

He finally understood.

~*~

The next day began like all the other days. Tachanka woke them up like clockwork, Kapkan and Glaz went for a quick run while Fuze tried to wash away his tiredness under the shower, then they met up again for breakfast. Tachanka insulted Glaz’ kasha, Kapkan insulted Tachanka and Fuze tried to steal small bits of the still-cooking porridge whenever he thought Glaz wouldn’t notice.

Two Germans joined them soon, with Blitz watching Fuze like a hound and Jäger pointedly avoiding Glaz at all cost.

Apparently all three other teams were scheduled to return on the next day with Ash making a great recovery, so they lingered in the canteen, chatting about the other operators and reminiscing about past victories. Inevitably, a discussion about politics broke out from which Glaz excused himself before it got ugly – Russians and Germans rarely saw eye to eye when it came to this topic. Even when they happened to basically agree, his countrymen never failed to make it sound like they were at discord.

IQ invited him for a walk on which they discussed more personal matters like Glaz’ passion for art and the other places IQ had travelled to and if it so happened that Fuze saw them together on the way back in, it was pure coincidence.

A big portion of the day was spent in the gym, where Glaz trained mostly alone until Jäger came in and stopped in his tracks when he saw him. They looked at each other for a time that felt like minutes but couldn’t have been more than a few beats. Finally, Jäger pulled himself together and said something that made Glaz smile before storming out again.

It felt incredibly good to hear and strengthened his resolve, but didn’t alleviate his uneasy anticipation.

This time, IQ had roped Blitz into helping her with dinner. Glaz had never seen the German look so out of his depth. He took forever to finish whatever task IQ gave him and meekly confessed that he had no idea what he was doing, but instead of yelling at him, IQ just laughed and pulled him into a quick hug. The display was comfortingly domestic and Glaz repeatedly felt his attention drawn towards the two and away from the game they were playing up until Tachanka started cheating with _his_ cards as well.

 

And then, finally, it was time to go to bed. Tachanka fell asleep right away as usual, Kapkan tossed and turned a bit and Fuze read. He often asked Glaz for his books so he had something to do while waiting for the sleep to come and implied that Glaz’ literature helped put him to sleep (something that still offended him a little), but if the bookmarks were any indication, he _did_ end up reading through them.

Glaz waited until Kapkan hadn’t moved for an inhuman amount of time and then peeked down to the lower bunk. “I can’t sleep either. Feel like going for a walk?”

Fuze, who had looked up at him curiously, shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”

They got up as quietly as possible, dressed (this time Glaz very carefully chose the right pair of trousers), turned off the bedside lamp Fuze used for reading and closed the door behind them. Rather than letting their eyes get accustomed to the darkness, Fuze switched the light in the hallway on and turned to Glaz with a questioning look. He just motioned for Fuze to go ahead, so his companion started heading towards the nearest exit.

Glaz followed him for a few steps before stating very deliberately: “You went to a different place yesterday.”

The effect was immediate, his words obviously hitting a nerve. Fuze froze with his hand on the door handle. Even if Glaz had been bluffing, it would’ve been painfully obvious that Fuze had something to hide – he was a terrible liar and lucky indeed that neither Kapkan nor Tachanka had shown any interest in his midnight ‘walks’.

He waited a few moments, but the petrified Fuze was offering neither an excuse nor an explanation, so Glaz suggested: “Let’s go to the canteen. We can talk there.” He tried to keep his voice level as to not give anything away, but he needn’t have worried: Fuze had turned white as a sheet and quite obviously had other matters to worry about than Glaz' tone of voice.

On the way, his brain seemed to have caught up to the situation he’d suddenly found himself in and now desperately tried to get him out of it. “I don’t know what you think you saw – if you saw _anything_ , that is – but it wasn’t that." No reply, so he tried a different tactic: "Don’t you feel guilty about spying on me? Don’t I deserve some privacy now and then?”

As much as it pained him to do so, Glaz kept quiet and made sure Fuze didn’t see the slight smile on his lips. When they arrived at the double doors, he flicked the switch to the corridor lights so that they were plunged into darkness yet again. “Come on.” He entered the large room, Fuze following him like a lost puppy.

“Glaz.” Fuze now sounded defeated. “You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

His fingertips itched, his arms wanted to reach out, his body gravitated towards his friend and yet all Glaz allowed himself to do was crowd Fuze against one of the moonlit tables. He could feel the heat coming off of Fuze’s imposing figure even through all their clothing. It wasn’t hard to imagine the turmoil in Fuze’s mind; anger and helplessness were visible on his face even in the pale light streaming in through the large windows next to them.

But it all ground to a halt when Glaz said: “Take your clothes off.”

Fuze stared at him, open-mouthed and incredulous. Time seemed to come to a standstill for a few heartbeats. It was possible that Fuze would lose composure, refuse, storm out, call him names. Glaz was almost convinced they would stay here forever while he decided which one of those to choose, uncomfortably close, sharing air, not quite touching but tangible nonetheless.

Then, softly: “What?”

Not ‘no way in hell’. Not ‘I’m leaving’. Not even a short ‘why’. Just a ‘could you repeat that?’. Glaz felt his lips stretch into a smile and whispered: “Off.”

 

Bookmarks moving through pages at a steady pace. Rare smiles in the morning, reserved just for Glaz’ cooking – or really just for Glaz. An embarrassed blush at Kapkan’s recollection of their night out. A question tinged with jealousy, hastily taken back before it could be analysed. The willingness to explain his handiwork when he would have brushed off everyone else.

On missions: absolute trust, mutual reliance, no second-guessing, no hesitation. In Spetsnaz: wordless acceptance, nods exchanged as greetings, no ill-natured comments about Glaz’ passion for art, his prolonged silences, his introversion. The obvious relief whenever they were ordered on missions together.

The fact that even though he seemed to feel comfortable with other tinkerers like Twitch and IQ, he always drifted back to the three Russians. Because that’s where Glaz felt most at home.

He’d made up his mind: Blitz had been wrong. It wasn’t that Fuze respected him most.

Not exactly.

 

His body reminded Glaz of all those Greek statues Europeans seemed to adore so much: big and strong, lots of muscle, a mostly hairless chest save for a small trail of dark strands that joined up with coarse curls further down. Moonlight washed over all the bumps and ridges, left only little to the imagination and yet ended up being flattering to the muscular man it illuminated.

Still, Glaz was convinced Fuze would look this good even under an old, flickering neon light.

Even though he had counted on it, he’d still been astonished at Fuze’s silent obedience while he stripped. He had even sat down on the table and spread his legs when Glaz had asked him for it, displaying his lush thighs and the proud erection that stood in stark contrast to the unease on his face.

Glaz tried to memorise every detail about the breathtaking sight in front of him, but quickly realised that Fuze was getting more restless by the second. Seems like he would have to look his fill at a later date. “Can I touch you?”, he asked in a low voice, enraptured, awe-struck.

A hesitant nod, and Glaz’ fingers finally made contact with the warm body in front of him. He stepped closer, barely aware of holding his breath, and let his hands wander over Fuze’s upper body, felt the latent power beneath the creamy skin, brushed over a nipple and earned a short gasp in return.

Fuze had never needed any extra blankets, even when the radiator in their room had broken, and now Glaz knew why – the man was an oven, radiating heat in waves that made him dizzy and wonder how it would be to sink into that warmth completely. Yet he held back, lost in the sensation of Fuze’s inner thighs, his stomach muscles, the dusting of hair on his legs.

After all the time they’d known each other, after hundreds of necessary (pulling the ever-impatient Fuze into cover) and accidental (moving around each other in the kitchen, in the gym, in their room) touches, after all those lonely nights that had left him frustrated and feeling slightly guilty, he was finally free to touch everything and anything he wanted. And oh, did he want.

He reverently wrapped his hand around Fuze’s cock and started stroking it lightly, not knowing how sensitive the circumcised flesh was, while his other hand continued to caress every available centimetre of skin, mapped it out.

“Glaz”, Fuze sounded slightly out of breath already, from his light touches alone, “you don’t have to do this out of revenge. He wanted it, I didn’t make him -”

“Do you hate this so much to think it’s revenge?” Glaz’ thumb slid over the exposed head and the erection twitched in his hand. Fuze bit his lip and said nothing, desire and anxiety clearly battling on his face. “There’s nothing shameful if we both want it.”

Fuze’s eyes widened in astonishment. “You -”

Glaz kissed him.

It started out slow and sweet, tentative even, a careful slide of lips on lips, but when Glaz gently licked over Fuze’s lower lip, a small sound of pure _longing_ escaped the Uzbek and suddenly, all was lost. Glaz pushed him flat onto the table and covered him with his own body without letting go of his now throbbing dick, licking into the other’s mouth, coaxing out his tongue and playing with it. Fuze’s hands pushed under his sweatshirt, felt up his body while he panted into Glaz’ mouth and dug their nails into his back whenever Glaz added a certain twist to his wrist.

By now, Glaz’ own penis was so stiff it became impossible to ignore – Fuze must’ve noticed it before, the way it tented his trousers – so he experimentally grinded his hips against Fuze’s, eliciting a delicious, if quiet, groan. So he removed his hand and did it again, this time pressing their erections together. Fuze’s breath hitched. He did it again.

When Glaz interrupted their fervent kissing, desire had pooled low in his stomach, leaving him light-headed and hungry for more – more skin, more contact, more intimacy. His urge to claim the man before him was unfamiliar, he was normally a patient, considerate lover, but something about this strong body, the unmistakably _manly_ smell it emanated, Fuze’s hesitant yet willing submission was clouding his judgement.

Not that Fuze seemed any better off. One of his legs had hooked around Glaz’ and held him in place, his face was flushed and his lips slightly swollen, not to mention his cock straining against the layers of clothing that separated it from its counterpart. Glaz wanted to devour him.

“I would really like to fuck you”, he murmured and, when he noticed the almost stunned, overwhelmed expression on Fuze’s face, added: “Don’t worry, I brought everything we need.”

That made Fuze emit a strained laugh. “You’re that eager?”

“You have no idea.”

The two looked at each other, tension thick between them, their gazes heated, their pupils blown wide not only because of the low light. Glaz was perfectly prepared to back off, try again at a later time, but he’d _prefer_ it if he didn’t have to. It had taken a lot of self-convincing and Jäger’s earlier comment for him to be here right now.

Then Fuze nodded again. “Okay.”

Relief washed over Glaz and he didn’t waste any time pulling out the small bottle that hadn’t seen any action in a while. “Thank God”, he said quietly, to which Fuze replied with another laugh, though this one sounded even more apprehensive. “I don’t think I could’ve mustered up the courage to ask again another time. Relax, please, I’ll be careful.”

Fuze propped himself up on his elbows and watched while Glaz coated his fingers generously. “You’re destroying every bit of that confident front you put up earlier, just so you know.”

Glaz paused for a moment and eyed the Uzbek worriedly. “Is that bad?”

A grin and a shake of the head. “No. It’s just more like you. I thought I might be dreaming for a while there. Is this going to hurt?”

 _It’s going to hurt my record of never getting involved with the people who put their lives into my hands_ , Glaz thought but didn’t say. “Not if you relax.” Tentatively, he touched the pad of one finger to Fuze’s tight ring of muscle, felt it contract and stroked slowly over the rim. To distract Fuze from the foreign feeling, he kissed him again, deeply, intimately, before he pushed the first finger in. It was engulfed in heat even more extreme than that of the rest of his body and only barely met resistance.

He carefully inserted another finger, made sure to go slow and leave Fuze enough time to adjust. At the same time, his lips glided over the side of his neck, sucked on a spot right behind his ear that made Fuze unconsciously stretch, lift up his body and strain towards him. Glaz grazed his teeth over it and was rewarded with a throaty groan that made his own dick pulse in anticipation. The thought of replacing his fingers with it got his blood roaring in his ears and among his own deep breathing and Fuze’s gasps, he almost didn’t hear the question.

“Is this really okay?”

Glaz smiled against the soft skin on Fuze’s shoulder and planted a few more feather-light kisses before answering. He remembered the time well when he’d pondered the same thing, unsure of his own desires, self-conscious. He’d been alone then, facing his demons at night when no one could see the emotions on his face, sleep a rare luxury in those days. Maybe that was where Fuze’s recent insomnia stemmed from. “Yes. You’re allowed this. It’s not dirty.”

He could feel Fuze relax at his words, tilt his head to allow Glaz better access to his neck, open up around his fingers. He started scissoring them while continuing to nibble and lick at Fuze’s neck. He’d never before seen the older man this vulnerable, not even when lying in a pool of his blood had he been this defenceless. He was quick to irritate and slow to apologise, brusque with people he didn’t know well and concise with the ones he did. The amount of trust he placed in him was tremendous – here he was, stark naked in front of a fully-clothed Glaz, spread out on a table and letting him finger him open… and his only complaint so far had been about Glaz’ confidence.

He could get used to this.

For now, he wanted to reassure Fuze though, soothe the self-doubts, so he pulled back a bit until they were face to face again and told him earnestly: “You’re doing great. I can’t wait to be inside of you, you feel fantastic.”

Even in the relative dark, he could see Fuze’s cheeks redden. “Cut it out, I’m not some whining virgin. I know how this goes.”

Apparently, his honesty would only lead to embarrassment on Fuze’s part, but since the sentiment was unexpectedly endearing, Glaz couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Oh yeah? So you’ve done this before?”

“Of course not, I just know -” Glaz made use of his momentary distraction to curl his fingers and deliberately rub over his prostate, to which Fuze reacted by instantly shutting up, arching his back and sharply sucking air in through his teeth. The sight was so pretty that Glaz considered doing it again, but decided against it for the moment when Fuze looked at him with wild eyes. “What the fuck.”

“I thought you knew how this goes”, Glaz said with an audible smirk. “Why do you think I wanted to do this to you so badly?” He brushed against that sweet spot again and Fuze bit his lower lip, hard, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Can your dick do that too?” This time, it was Glaz’ turn to blush, but he fought down an embarrassed laugh and simply nodded. “Get on with it, then.”

Glaz withdrew his fingers gently, noticing that Fuze’s hips followed his movement for a bit – so Glaz wasn’t the only eager one. He opened his trousers, pushed them down together with his pants and then awkwardly bent down to belatedly pull a condom out of the pocket with which he fumbled for a moment before just ripping it open with his teeth. He hoped he wouldn’t be questioned as to where he got it from because he certainly wasn’t willing to disclose what he traded it for with Bandit.

But Fuze’s attention lay elsewhere, his eyes trained on Glaz’ penis. Normally, he would’ve encouraged him to touch it, to explore the differences between them, to learn about Fuze’s most sensitive spots and teach him about his own, but his boxers had already been uncomfortably damp from all the precum and his lower brain demanded some stimulation.

And besides, he really didn’t want to leave Fuze waiting.

Unsteady fingers rolled the condom on and added some more viscous gel, just to be on the safe side, and all of a sudden, the tip of his cock touched one of Fuze’s most intimate places. The realisation that they were about to have sex, that he was going to _fuck Fuze_ , hit him out of nowhere.

A naked leg touched his own, pulled his trousers further down and then wrapped around him, dragging him forwards a little. Fuze must’ve noticed his hesitance. It was all the persuasion he needed.

Glaz pushed slowly, felt Fuze open up around him and envelop him in tight heat that made his head swim. When his head had slipped inside, he stopped, let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding and looked down at Fuze.

Fuze returned his gaze with an unguarded, open expression. “We’re going to do this again, right?”, he murmured and laid back again, groped at Glaz until he followed and kissed him.

His mind was so muddled his brain barely caught up with the question. Almost all of his attention was focused on not moving, willing Fuze to adjust quickly. “We’ve barely started.”

The other leg joined the first one and together they pulled Glaz in, not at a steady pace but bit by bit. “Even if I end up hating it. Even if I claim to hate it.”

Glaz struggled to translate Fuze’s words because on their own, they didn’t seem to make any sense. The tightness around his dick made it impossibly difficult to think straight. “I don’t know what you mean.” His voice sounded strangled. He didn’t want to lose him, but he didn’t understand, _wanted_ to understand. Fuze clenched around him and Glaz let out a helpless moan against his neck. His legs were beginning to tremble with the effort of standing perfectly still.

“I don’t want you to avoid me.”

And through the lustful haze in his brain, he saw. _Don’t let me avoid you. Don’t let me drive you away._ He didn’t have anyone when he was only starting to come to terms with himself, yet he understood. He wondered where this openness, these emotions were coming from, whether it was a mixture of the late hour, the cover of darkness, their shared intimacy, or whether he was going to see more of this side of Fuze in the future. He certainly wouldn’t complain if he was. “I won’t let you bear this on your own”, he whispered against Fuze’s lips, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” And he gave a first gentle thrust.

Fuze set their tempo. The iron grip of his burly legs dictated Glaz’ movements, his hands on Glaz’ back held him in place and the tongue in his mouth slowly robbed him of all coherent thought. Glaz thrusted helplessly into the welcoming heat of Fuze’s body, utterly lost in his own pleasure, the feeling of Fuze stretching around the head of his cock every time he pulled out almost all the way and the small noises escaping Fuze’s throat.

The combination of their sloppy kisses, the tight embrace and Fuze’s body temperature was suffocating, so Glaz extricated himself from his arms and rid himself of his sweatshirt, all the while Fuze continued to roll his hips against his own at a maddeningly slow pace. Curious fingers explored Glaz’ now exposed chest, aimless at first but soon full of purpose, tickling his ribs with their light touch, caressing his nipples and _squeezing_ when Glaz made the mistake of groaning at the sensation.

This wouldn’t do. If it continued like this, he’d cream himself decidedly too soon.

Glaz valiantly tried to block out Fuze’s clever fingers and adjusted the angle of his thrusts, pushing deep into the Uzbek with each one and searching for his prostate. Fuze made it glaringly obvious when he found it: his mouth fell open, his toes curled and his gaze slipped from heated into disbelieving. It was the single hottest thing Glaz had ever witnessed.

Mercilessly, he grinded against the spot, made sure to brush it with every movement. The reward was beautiful. Fuze reached up and gripped the edge of the table for support, displaying his muscles unconsciously, letting them dance underneath his skin; he tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and his hole clenched hungrily around Glaz’ dick.

Glaz drank in the intoxicating sight before him and wrapped his still-slippery hand around Fuze’s erection, massaging the ridge right below the head and getting acquainted with the burning weight of it in his hand before stroking it in earnest. He allowed himself the brief thought of _I wonder what it's like to get fucked by this_ , but quickly banned it from his conscious mind. If he didn’t, this could end embarrassingly quickly.

He’d timed his strokes to his thrusts in the hopes of eliciting more noises from Fuze and it turned out to work wonderfully. In fact, it turned out to work so well Glaz wished it hadn’t done so at all. Because in the exact same moment that Fuze let out his first, unrestrained and blissful moan, the lights in the hallway turned on.

Glaz stopped despite every cell in his body screaming at him to carry on _this instant_.

Fuze opened his eyes and blinked at Glaz dazedly before craning his neck to follow the direction of his gaze. It took him a moment to process what his eyes were telling him. “Well, fuck me. Get off.”

Even through the thrumming desire occupying most of Glaz’ consciousness, he couldn’t help but reply: “Was doing the former and trying to accomplish the latter.”

His humour was not appreciated. “Are you insane? Fucking get off!” Fuze’s hiss was tinged with panic. He jumped off the table and hastily gathered up all their discarded clothing as well as everything that would give them away, shoving parts of it in Glaz’ hands who had no choice but to accept them. “Storage room. _Go!_ ”

Considerably sobered up now, Glaz held up his underwear and trousers with one hand and part of their clothes in the other while he hurriedly shuffled after Fuze towards the only other door in the canteen. They had barely closed it behind them when they heard someone enter the very room in which they’d just had passionate sex.

With bated breath, they listened to the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing and footsteps pacing. For some reason, the absurdity of their situation hit Glaz with a wave of hysteria - Fuze's facial expressions had been priceless - and he successfully fought fits of laughter bubbling up in him. He realised belatedly it didn't matter to him whether they got caught or not. The only thing that mattered was the terrified Uzbek next to him who was probably both almost pissing himself _and_ still sporting a sizeable stiffy.

Glaz suppressed another conniption, carelessly dropped the items he was holding off to the side and reached out in the darkness to pull Fuze towards him. Fortunately, the pantry was more than spacious enough for the two of them, even if it was slightly stuffy and pitch black. He could feel the tension in Fuze’s body as he slipped his arms around his broad chest and melted against his back, pressing the two of them closely together and rubbing his unimpaired boner between the plump ass cheeks he’d not had the pleasure of groping properly yet.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?”, Fuze whispered nervously, desperately trying to stay as quiet as possible, but his panic made his voice sound high-pitched. He stood stock still.

“If somebody opens the door, it’s painfully obvious what we were doing anyway”, Glaz murmured against the back of his neck, “so we might as well be fucking.”

“That’s the stupidest -” Fuze slapped a hand over his mouth just before the head of Glaz' cock fully breached him again. The feeling was magnificent, pure elation – the danger of getting caught was a thrill that made Glaz’ neck hairs stand up and sharpened his mind, let him experience every sensation more precisely, more vividly than before. Fuze’s muscles worked around him, to accommodate him, under his finger tips, to keep Fuze upright, against his chest.

Glaz took him apart. He tongued that spot behind his ear, scratched his nails over the flat belly and grabbed Fuze’s dick again while grinding against him. Fuze didn’t seem to know what he wanted more: thrust into Glaz’ fist or press against him to allow him deeper inside. He flailed for a second, looking for support, didn’t find any and instead grabbed Glaz’ backside, digging his fingers into the flesh and following his shallow thrusts.

Their uneven breathing filled the room, painfully loud in their ears, but whoever had entered the canteen to rummage around in a few drawers either hadn’t noticed them or had paid them no heed because they saw the strip of light at the bottom of the door disappear only a minute later, heard the double doors click shut.

Glaz took that as a signal to stop holding back, sped up his strokes and gently bit down on Fuze’s shoulder. His hands slid to the prominent hip bones and held them in place while he slammed into the other man with short, hard thrusts. Both of them were chasing their release now, Fuze frantically jerking himself off and Glaz feeling his pleasure building up. The sound of flesh hitting flesh drowned out their soft moans.

When Glaz repeatedly hit the other’s sweet spot yet again, Fuze started writhing in his grip, faltering slightly, finding it difficult to stay standing, a steady stream of gasps and groans falling from Fuze’s mouth while Glaz panted against his spine, resting his forehead on Fuze’s shoulder. The world around them dissipated, Fuze the only thing that still felt _real_ , tangible, comprehensible to Glaz. Ecstasy had taken a vicious hold on him and refused to release him.

He drove into Fuze with abandon, pulling him back onto his cock, his tongue salty from the sweat on Fuze's skin. The freedom that allowed, _encouraged_ his hard and deep and satisfying strokes was making him euphoric. He could feel Fuze tense up, gathered all that was left of his concentration and made every movement in him intentional, full of purpose, gripped his hips hard and thrust once, twice.

“Oh, _fuck_ ”, Fuze breathed, and came.

His thighs trembled, his whole body was taut while he rode out his orgasm. The contractions around Glaz’ cock that indicated the long stripes with which Fuze was undoubtedly painting the floor right now pushed him over the edge to an almost simultaneous, explosive climax. It was so intense that dizziness overtook him while he came balls deep in Fuze, his penis pulsing and spilling his seed futilely. He barely heard the growl Fuze made when he felt Glaz reach his peak, so helplessly was he drowning in the waves of lust that washed over him, enveloped his entire body, rushed through his veins and brought sugary-sweet relief.

They stood for a few moments, unmoving, covered in a fine sheen of sweat and concentrating on nothing but the pleasant aftershocks and their own breathing. When Glaz felt his dick soften, he withdrew carefully and then tied off the condom while Fuze slumped, then suddenly uttered a heartfelt curse and crashed into one of the shelves that lined the walls. “Everything okay?”, Glaz asked unsurely. He himself felt amazing: sated, comfortably exhausted and strangely warm on the inside – but without being able to see his face, it was impossible for him to ascertain Fuze’s state of mind.

“Yeah, I just stepped into my own jizz. Ow. Just so you know, _you’re_ cleaning this up. Shit, I think I came all over my t-shirt.”

Glaz chuckled and extended an arm to stroke over Fuze’s abdomen affectionately. He assumed they would have even less time together soon, once the other teams returned and they were deployed themselves again, so he wanted to make the most of it now. “To the point where you’re not comfortable wearing it outside when we’re done here?”

“What, you still wanna go for that walk?”

“I thought it might help you sleep.”

“I’m fucking exhausted already. Besides, we see each other all day long.”

 _But not alone_ , Glaz wanted to say, _not like this_. Instead, he wordlessly pulled up his trousers and opened the door to the canteen so he had a chance to actually see the clothes he was trying to pick up. As far as he could tell, Fuze _had_ ejaculated all over his t-shirt.

Fuze watched him for a while and then sighed. “Screw it, fresh air won’t hurt. But don’t think I haven’t figured you out.” The Russian raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “You act all polite and friendly, so no one suspects you. I know I wouldn't have thought you're the jealous type.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Is that so?” Fuze’s smirk was of a decidedly smug quality. “I beg to differ." He turned around and pointed into the moonlit canteen that almost seemed bright to their eyes. "The table you fucked me on? It’s the Germans’.”

Glaz hoped the darkness hid his guilty smile. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Fuze just scoffed.

~*~

As Kapkan and Tachanka joined their other two teammates in the kitchenthe next morning, they found them yawning, rubbing their eyes and yet exuding a strange, peaceful aura.

“I don’t think I can recall a single day where you boys got up earlier than me”, Tachanka accused them and squinted at them suspiciously. “What did you do? Piss in someone’s shampoo? Watch the stars?”

“Just look at them, it’s obvious. They just didn’t go to bed at all, old man, it’s easy to get up earlier than you if they never lay down in the first place. I heard you come in some time this morning, a horde of elephants couldn’t have been louder, what the hell were you doing?”

Glaz offered Kapkan an apologetic smile. “We went for a walk in the woods and found a shoe.”

“Riveting”, Tachanka commented and attempted to peek under one of the lids Glaz had placed over the many plates and bowls to keep the cooked food warm, but was slapped away by Fuze.

“Fuze thought I should try and shoot through all the holes for the shoelace, so we tried to break into the equipment room for a night vision scope or some goggles.”

“Didn’t work”, Fuze continued and showed the other two a long, nasty scratch down his lower arm. “Then we tried to break into the medical office.”

“The medical office isn’t locked”, Kapkan interjected sceptically.

“Yup.” Fuze nodded. “And now it _can’t_ be locked anymore either.”

“And by that point, it was so late we decided to just shower and start making breakfast. Only Fuze forgot he was still wearing that shoe we found. That was probably what woke you up this morning.”

Kapkan rolled his eyes. “Who needs drugs when you can have sleep deprivation. You two are dorks, you’re just lucky no one saw you or you'd never live it down.”

“Wait, are those _pancakes_?” Tachanka immediately grabbed the plate in question and turned to Kapkan. “These boys are saints, don’t you ever call them names ever again. I’ll have your head!” With that, he stormed off to demolish the entire stack systematically and with a ridiculously blissful expression.

The other three stared after him for a moment, then Fuze mumbled: “Well damn, you guessed right. I can’t believe it.”

“It’s either kasha or pancakes, I told you. I’ll make some more.”

Kapkan shook his head over Tachanka’s behaviour and piled various foods on a plate before taking a seat next to the old man, closely followed by Fuze.

Glaz mixed new batter and was in the middle of frying a new batch of pancakes when Jäger leaned against the counter next to him with his arms crossed and a sour look. He didn't look like he'd had a good night's sleep either. Glaz examined him for a moment and then asked softly: “What would you like for breakfast?”

Jäger stared at him for a while, expression unwaveringly bitter, before he relented. “Crispy bacon, if we have any. And scrambled eggs.”

“Sure.” Glaz held his gaze. “And thank you.”

Jäger just shrugged, but his face softened a little. The words he’d uttered the day before, the words that had given Glaz the courage to confront Fuze but, most of all, confront himself, hung in the air between them: _It’s alright. He’s yours anyway._

Glaz felt his attention drawn to the tired Uzbek at their usual table, his capable hands, his injured arm, his toned body. The slight smile on his lips when he noticed Glaz staring at him, though he did his best to ignore him. He had a feeling that Fuze would continue to be his centre of attention even when the other teams arrived later.

He would miss a lot of details, cues about shifts in friendships, tiny indications as to how everyone was feeling. But he found he didn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your feedback and hope you enjoyed!  
> This is my first published work in English and not proofread, so please let me know about any and all mistakes.


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